S'kraaj's Story
by VulpesIncarnate
Summary: The story of the assassin. The story of the beast. The story of S'kraaj. The hardened Argonian, raised in Elsweyr, who's life is turned upside down, when the prey becomes the predator.


My name is S'kraaj. I am an assassin. I am the beast.  
This is my story.

I was born in Leyawiin, Cyrodiil, in the small house in the middle of town. In fact, I was told a very important man had lived in that little house at one point, at the turning of the Third Age. I may have been born Argonian, but I was raised a Khajiit in Senchal, Elsweyr. After I had hatched from my egg, my mother had been arrested by the Leyawiin Guard for the theft of potions from the Mages Guild. I would have died of starvation, had a lone Khajiit named M'aiq found me, and asked around the town, finding out my thief of a mother wouldn't be out of jail for another month. Knowing I was to die if not cared for, the kind man took me in the night and set sail for the warm sands of Elsweyr. And on that day I became S'kraaj. I knew I was different from the other children, growing up in Senchal. In fact, I was the polar opposite. Because of that, they had always attempted to tease me, to taunt me. When they grew bored of that, then came the beatings. I grew hardened by these beatings, and learned to fight. More importantly, I learned how to conceal a weapon. I became cunning and agile, never attempting to join my opponent in the taunting preliminaries of a fight- they were on the ground with their throats slashed wide open before they even had a chance to react. I had a taste for blood, from a very young age. Literally and figuratively. Of course, I needed to find a way not to get caught (which I never did find, in the crowded streets of Senchal) but the blood on my blade would do. The others feared me. I was cruel, unrelenting, unmerciful. They would step out of my way when I had passed them on the city streets. I was quite easy to spot, standing a good foot higher than the rest. I had light green scales, with a purple mosaic arching its way across my forehead. I had the horns of a bull, and bore them proudly. More than one attempt on my life was made, even at my young age of around 16. The sands of Elsweyr had not given me any quarter. And so no quarter was given from me. After a while, when questioned of my future in the cryptic language my father M'aiq used, a revelation dawned upon me. Killers were well paid. Of course I could not tell dear old M'aiq this (although I'm sure he wouldn't have minded...) so I managed to mumble something about smithing. One day, after much thought and saving, at the age of 19, I bid M'aiq farewell. He wouldn't need any hinderance upon his fatherhood of the new child- which he named in turn M'aiq. I never understood that. I picked up a job from some wannabe adventurer looking to travel to Skyrim, that needed a bodyguard. The pay was good, and I needed to get away from that wretched city. My plans were simple- upon reaching Skyrim and managing a few league's hike from the port city of Solitude, I would kill him. Simple as that. A slice of the throat, a spray of the blood. And years of experience in the field of murder told me I could easy kill the inexperienced brat. I was wrong. As we trekked through the forest near Morthal on a dimly light night, I decided to make my move and take his gold. All I had to do was reach around and, with a quick pull at the elbow, sever the taut jugular like a brittle twig. As I pulled the knife around his neck, the Nord adventurer stumbled, at just the right angle that his armor of steel deflected the perfectly aimed blow. Realizing what was happening, he then did something out of pure rage that I will never forget to this day, that changed my existence forever. He let out a long roar, and rapidly began a transformation. His arms elongated, his head enlarged and grew forward, exposing long ears and pure white eyes, and a tail formed behind him. All the while, a thick matted coat of black fur grew at inexplicable speeds before my very eyes. I could barely comprehend what was happening, much less react. As he threw back his head and uttered a fearsome cry of fury, breath rushed into my lungs, and adrenaline pumped through my veins as I realized the inevitability of my situation. On this night, I was going to die. But, by the gods, I was going to take this feral beast with me on the way out. I slashed and stabbed all I might, but the werewolf showed no signs of tiredness. He slashed with his two-foot long claw and caught me in the shoulder. I managed to remove one of his fingers before he pounced upon me. I was only distantly aware of my surrounds at this point, and with what I thought was to be my last breath, thought of kindly M'aiq. In the distance (or so it seemed) I heard a cry- not the cry of the wolf, but the cry of a man. The cry of an egg-brother. I felt a slight electrical surge run through me a few seconds later, and then again, and again. The werewolf lay on the ground beside me, convulsing in its death throes. I was losing blood, and fast. As I looked up, the last thing I saw before I went unconscious was that of a vague shape in a dark hood, standing over me, cursing and conjuring bright yellow balls of light in his hands. And then all was black. I woke up, weeks later, in an old cave. It was dimly lit, and seemingly neglected. There were spiderwebs on the wall, and fruit in bowls on the furniture far too old to be eaten. The realization had taken ahold of me: I was alive. My life had not ended. But I needed to know where I was. I looked around, and I found a faded plaque on the wall, labeled "The Five Tenants," with an imprint of a hand above the list. This aroused my curiosity even more, and I was determined to discover my location. I stumbled around, lightheaded, into a sort of main cavern. There was a stream passing through the very room, which had a grindstone and workbench in one of the corners, but was otherwise unfurnished. Two people were standing in this room, a man and a woman, an Argonian and a Nord. Still not completely able to walk, I limped weakly towards them in an attempt to contact them. They noticed my arrival, and immediately approached me with weapons drawn. "We have things to discuss. Sit. Now." said the Nord woman, who then introduced herself as Astrid. "That werewolf that you attempted to bring down, he was ours. The contract was ours," she informed me. "wha... what?" I managed to ask weakly.  
"The adventurer you escorted, he was our contract. S'kraaj, are you really this unaware? You find yourself in the Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood." My brain almost disabled itself with the incoming wave of thoughts of emotion. I had heard of the Dark Brotherhood before. Worshippers of Sithis, master assassins. You couldn't ever stop the Dark Brotherhood. He had admired them all his life. "I... I didn't know..." I quietly mumbled.  
"We know," said Astrid, "and the only reason Veezara here didn't kill you for what you did is because we've been looking for you. We've heard of your exploits in Senchal. We ask you to become one of us."  
I was stunned. Of all the things I expected from this meeting, that was the least. I barely managed to splutter out my immense approval of the proposition. Astrid looked somewhat pleased. She reached behind her, and pulled out a medium-sized hammer. "Here. A gift from the Brotherhood. It was found on the body of the adventurer. An enchanting marvel, indeed. Welcome to the Brotherhood." Her and the Argonian, Veezara, stood up and began to walk out. Just before she exited the room, she turned her head over her shoulder and shouted back to me, "And by the way, you're a werewolf now. Talk to Arnbjorn." This revelation was the most stunning of all. A lycanthrope. A beast. The most glorious of predators. I was nothing but pleased. However, knowing the importance of controlling this, I talked to Arnbjorn. I learned quickly why Astrid had instructed me to consult him- for one, he was a werewolf, and two, he knew how to control it. I learned quickly, as I always had to do, to survive. I learned the ways of the beast, and finally tasted the flesh and blood of Man. It was just as tasty as I thought it'd be. But, I fought in my Argonian form much more often than that of the wolf. The thrill of the blade passed, and so the blunt force trauma of a hammer smashing the skull of my enemy was much pleasing. The hammer entrusted to me by Astrid and Veezara was the only cherished possession I called my own. The land of Skyrim, unknowing of the name given to me by my dear father, gave my the title Snowhammer. I am S'kraaj, the Snowhammer. The last thing you never see.


End file.
